“None, sir. The constables have done a good job checking on all his known haunts in town. There was a lot of, ‘Why don’t you talk to Mrs. Jones at number seventy? Well, you could try . . .’ They were sent spinning off on wild-goose chases. The captain had hidey-holes, doss houses and prime cribs all over the place. And the PCs were very impressed by the loyalty everyone showed. No one’s come near to giving him away.”

For the first time, MacFarlane was able to eye the black box without frustration. “Well, while we’re waiting for the postmortem on Fanshawe, I can start exhuming these one by one and adding a footnote.” He gave a hideous grin. “Tying a label to the toes. Always a pleasure, that! I’ll go ahead. You, Redfyre, may worm your way back into that college. We aren’t done with them yet. Someone knows who tipped Fanshawe through the window and poured a libation over him. And that Cornelius Wells . . . something not quite right there. He’s another one who makes my whiskers twitch. Is he protecting Digby Gisbourne and thereby the college’s interests? You’ll get no funding out of a hanged man. This daughter, Rosamund Wells, sounds like a load of trouble to me, but you never know your luck. Sometimes the clever Dicks and Doras trip up in their own nets. See if you can get close, Redfyre. Without rocking the boat.

“Oh, and send young Thoday down to London, will you? With backup. I’ve just arranged for a squad of city police to join the party. They’ll handle the financial crime aspect of this better than we can—the city’s right in the middle of their patch, and they’re used to sharp practice by plausible persons. They’ll have some pretty blunt questions to put to Enquiries At, and rather blunt methods of extracting answers. Including a touch of dynamite, if necessary. One of their lads is an ex-peterman. No safe defies his delicate touch for long.”

Redfyre offered to pick up the pathologist’s report himself from Trumpington Street when the phone call came through that it was ready. He had other business round the back of the morgue.

Dr. Beaufort was brisk, as usual. “This is a trifle rushed, Redfyre. But given the college context with potential witnesses packing their trunks and disappearing for nigh on three months, I thought speed might be of the essence. I, too, am bound for Dover and the ferry to the Aegean Isles very soon.

“In fact, it was quite straightforward. He died falling from a height. Damage done listed in the report, all consistent. No sneaky little pinpricks in the armpits or dagger-shaped punctures. He fell and died of the fall.”

“Any signs that he might have been helped on his way down?”